Thank you, Williamstown, for being so much a part of our show at the Williamstown Literary Festival on Saturday 17 June.
Mickey Randall looks at three iconic moments in song: moments in A Hard Day's Night by The Beatles, Paradise City by Guns 'n' Roses, and The Tourist by Radiohead.
Riders On The Storm was the only Doors song 7BU ever played. My mental image of the singer was someone like the Marlboro Man crossed with the God of the Old Testament. All-seeing, all-knowing, powerful but not necessarily prepared to intervene.
Here's the set list from our show at the Willy Lit Fest on Saturday 17 June. On the left is the name of the writer or narrator. In the middle is the name of the song/story. On the right are the names of the musicians. You'll find all the stories by going to our Stories [...]
We designed our album covers, our costumes and our amazing stage shows. Not only would we have a full-size movie screen behind us but Andrew would have a drum kit so large that he would need to get extendable robot arms to be able to reach them all. We also planned out the itinerary for our world tour.
The house lights dimmed, the curtain rose, a hush fell and the assault began. Proximity of screen plus technicolour panavision multiplied by gigantic singing heads equals nausea.
I’d drive all night with my brother if I could. It would be escapism of a sort but also a rare chance to spend time, a long time, together. We’d pack sandwiches and snacks and drinks. Chocolate. A football. Some of Peter’s surfboards.
We engaged Joie's Mazda 818's unofficial air conditioning—two windows down and eighty kilometres an hour—and raised our voices in chat and song over the wind streaming into the car.
There is much conjecture and disagreement about the trajectory of Paul Weller and friends, the evolution of The Jam from punkish to mod to pop to pastiche, ending in the Style Council, of which I was never a fan (you can tell a Weller woman by the way she wears her hair etc).
The house is a pigsty: multiple leaks, gathering mould, mice pooh in the breadbox, possum arses sticking out of the walls to block out the sunlight while they sleep, empty pizza cartons, cheap wine bottles – it’s a cross between Animal House and the Dead Poets Society.